


Ruined

by signifying_nothing



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: M/M, a for angst, b for broken, c for crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5476634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which yoongi breaks up with jimin because it's the right thing to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruined

**Author's Note:**

> this is the direct result of some headspace awfulness.  
> also i'd like to take this opportunity to thank the bts fanbase for being so responsive, i really appreciate it! if you guys have questions or prompts/requests you can come find me at my tumblr, my askbox is always open.

Breaking up with Jimin had, in many ways, been inevitable. Yoongi knew that. He knew it was inevitable, because he was an asshole, because he was stubborn and snide, too mean when he didn't _mean_ to be and unable to communicate unless he was writing lyrics he never let anyone read. Jimin. Jimin was soft and sweet and a fucking pushover so it didn't surprise Yoongi that one cold December afternoon, he finally had to tell him--

“I'm ruining you. I can't watch you let me do it, anymore.”

He knew he was the destructive force in Jimin's life, it didn't take a fucking working pair of eyes to see it, but Jimin was the only one who didn't, it seemed. He watched Jimin's friends breathe silent sighs of relief, he watched his own hang their heads in dismay. Everybody was hoping Jimin would be the one to change him, it seemed.

Sorry to fucking disappoint.

Yoongi threw himself into work with a ferocity he hadn't experienced in a long time. He spat out tracks faster than he could organize them, he recorded and re-recorded and re-re-recorded and he slept on the couch in his studio space instead of the bed in his studio apartment and he didn't care very much. The couch was more comfortable than the bed anyway. He only went back to the apartment to shower or change, once every two days or so.

“You look like shit, man,” Hunchul had said, and maybe it was his way of trying to be kind, trying to... Speak to Yoongi in a way he could correctly interpret. Yoongi knew what he meant. _You look like shit_ translated to _When is the last time you fucking ate something other than instant noodles, man, when is the last time you fucking slept?_

“Fuck you,” Yoongi replied, heading back down the hallway, freshly showered and carrying his cup noodles, his hood up over his pale green hair. He'd dyed it a frosty mint color because he liked the way it looked against his face when he was so pale. He always looked like a ghost in winter. Except now he felt like one too and that was uncomfortable. He felt like air, like anyone could reach to touch him (not that they would) and their hand would just pass right through.

He locked his studio door and sat down on the couch, tucking his feet up under himself to eat his sodium and stare out into the small room, listening to the pressurized silence. It made his ears ring. Somewhere along the line he'd gotten used to Jimin mumbling to himself as he did schoolwork, singing under his breath and trying not to be distracting but the quality of his voice always had Yoongi stopping to listen despite himself.

On the computer at the mixer, a song titled PJM1.3 sat on the hard drive and waited for the day Jimin would get to lay down the voice track, because Yoongi had written it _for_ him. For his voice.

Yoongi finished his meal and set the empty cup aside to get back to work.

~

_Hey hyung. We're all getting together for Taehyung's birthday, on Saturday night, so if you want to come... You should come. I'll see you there, okay?_

Yoongi deleted Jimin's voicemail and put his phone on the desk. He'd called on Thursday night. It was now Saturday morning and even if Yoongi didn't have plans to sleep on his mixer when he passed out from working for too long, he wouldn't have gone to the party. It wasn't that he didn't love his friends. He did. He'd mailed Taehyung a card on Wednesday with a fifty dollar bill and a promise to take him out to dinner whenever he wanted, but he couldn't go to a party with all of their friends. He could not deal with... Any of that.

He hated himself for how fragile he felt, how very breakable. He'd been the one doing the hurting. He'd been the one who broke up with Jimin, not the other way around and _fuck_ he was disgusted with himself, because he did _not_ deserve to feel bad about it. He'd done it on his own. He'd done it to fucking protect Jimin from any more fucking damage and it hurt but fuck—what were the alternatives? Watch Jimin crumble under the weight of Yoongi's... Fucking. Self? No. No, he would not do that, could not do that, and mourning the loss of his lover was fucking hypocritical. He'd made his fucking bed, and he was going to sleep in it.

He tossed his phone onto the couch and turned back to his work, his eyes and neck aching.

~

“Hey. Hey. Yah, Yoongi. _Min Yoongi._ ”

Yoongi jerked up from the table the mixer sat on and rubbed at his face with his arm, turning around in the chair at the same time and squinting up at one Jung Hoseok, who was staring down at him with an uncharacteristically imperious expression on his face.

“What,” he said, his head feeling wooly, his mouth like it was full of yarn.

“You skipped Taehyung's party.”

“I did not,” Yoongi grumbled, not in the mood for Hoseok's moral high ground bullshit. Some people (like Yoongi) were just shitbags, and Hoseok didn't get it. Probably because he wasn't one of them, damn it all. He always wanted Yoongi to be a better person than he was, and unfortunately that came off as a fucking superiority complex, or a messiah complex, or some fucked up mix of both depending on how you looked at it. “I chose not to go. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“He was expecting to see you,” Hoseok continued, arms crossed over his chest.

“He can see me some other time,” Yoongi started.

“Did you not come because you knew Jimin was going to be there?”

“Jesus Christ, Hoseok, it's fucking--”

“It's noon on Sunday, Jackass. You don't have an excuse to be sleeping.”

If Yoongi thought for one minute he would get away with it, he would punch Hoseok in the sternum and go back to sleep. But as it was Hoseok was squinting down at him and he felt curiously exposed and defenseless. He hated it when Hoseok was looking at him like that, he hated it when Hoseok seemed to look right through him like the ghost he felt like, except that he could see all the hurt in between the folds of self-hate.

“What,” he asked, pushing back in his chair when Hoseok shifted his weight to his other leg.

“You look terrible,” he said, and Yoongi rolled his eyes.

“I fell asleep on the fucking mixer, dumbass, what did you expect me to look like.”

“Not like you got rid of twenty pounds you can't afford to lose,” Hoseok replied, his voice sharp as broken glass. Yoongi would have flinched if he wasn't so fucking determined not to. He knew he was skinny. He'd been skinny before. But he always lost weight in his face first, so he was sure he looked sickly. Eating just didn't seem as important as working. Working kept his head busy. Working kept his brain from lingering on the silent commentary, _Jimin would be telling you to go to bed right now. Jimin's at that modern dance class, don't forget to pick him up. Don't forget to buy a melon soda for Jimin._

“I'm fine,” Yoongi said, turning back to the mixer and hating how he had to grab at the counter to keep himself steady. God. _God._ “So just fuck off, Hoseok. How'd the hell you even get in here.”

“Junhongie let me in,” he said, and Yoongi seethed a bit. Fucking nosey pain in his ass. “Yoongi. Yoongi _come on._ ”

“Come on _what,_ ” he snapped, jerking around in his chair to stare up at Hoseok, who was staring down at him with his patient, expectant face and fuck Yoongi hated that, he hated it, he hated it when Hoseok knew what to do and how to stand and what to fucking say to make Yoongi crumble apart into the pieces he'd been holding together so diligently. “Come on what, Hoseok. There's nothing to fucking talk about.”

“You are a liar and you know it,” Hoseok replied, and Yoongi felt his chest twist. “You think everyone's so fucking busy worrying about Jimin that we forgot about you? Jimin is _fine,_ Yoongi, you're the one who's falling apart.”

Yoongi wouldn't have put it that way, because that made him sound like he experienced emotions or some shit, but. Yeah, that was the jist of it. Jimin was the soft one. Jimin was the one who cried at the end of _Homeward Bound_ for fucks sake. Jimin was the one whose life seemed to revolve around Yoongi's while Yoongi's just revolved around work and he might have hated himself for it but there wasn't much to be one. He'd been the one doing the breaking up. He didn't get to complain about how much it fucking hurt to wake up without Jimin, to stop himself from going to pick him up from class, to buy two grapefruit sodas when he put enough money in the machine for two but he hated melon.

But wait. _Jimin is fine._ Jimin is fine. Oh god, it hurt like a blow to the head, it made Yoongi dizzy, it made his throat tighten and his heart fucking _ache._ Jimin is fine, Jimin is fine, and _you're the one who's falling apart._ Yoongi was not so easily breakable. There was no way that could be true. Jimin was just better at hiding it, that was all. He was just better at hiding how much stuff hurt him, he always had been, it wasn't that Jimin was fine because how could Jimin be fine when Yoongi wanted to rip his heart out and burn it, how could Yoongi have mattered so little that Jimin was _fine_ after two months, only two months, how could Jimin had filled the hole Yoongi left

(unless he hadn't left a space, unable to be filled. maybe jimin was fine. maybe jimin was fine but yoongi was not and he didn't know what to do.)

“I'm fucking fine,” he hissed, reaching for the counter to pull himself back to it, his eyes itching in a threatening way. “Just leave me alone, Hoseok. We all know I'm an asshole, okay, we don't need to go over it again.”

“That's not what this is about, Yoongi,” Hoseok said, sounding very, very tired.

Yoongi couldn't loosen his shoulders until Hoseok sighed, and he could feel him moving away. Hoseok grabbed his jacket, pulled it onto his arms and shoulders. “When you want to talk about it, I'll be around.”

“That won't be necessary,” Yoongi lied, and Hoseok let him.

~

It wasn't necessary, for a lot longer than Yoongi had expected. Or maybe he was just better at lying than he thought he was, because soon it was July, and summer was crawling up into his lungs to make them itchy, make him cough, and in a moment of weakness, when he felt alone and helpless and fucking _sick_ and miserable he texted Hoseok, _could u get some dayquil_ and when he woke up again, Hoseok was sitting in the squishy chair opposite his bed in the studio apartment, reading. It was dark outside, and he squinted out into the light of the room with a sound of malcontent.

“Oh, you're up,” Hoseok said, and Yoongi grunted. “You okay?” His voice was warm with entirely too much concern.

“I have a headcold,” Yoongi said. “I'm not _dying._ ”

Hoseok pursed his lips and nodded. “Right,” he said, getting up to get a cup of juice and the bottle of dayquil, curiously... A third empty. “Here, take some more of this.” Yoongi had to have liquid medication; he couldn't swallow pills without throwing them back up, his gag reflex was out of control and had been since he was a kid. With furrowed brows and a petulant mouth, Yoongi let Hoseok hand him a dose of medication and he swallowed it, almost choking on the taste before he washed it down with grape juice, swallowing nearly all of it. His mouth still tasted like dayquil.

“How do you feel?”

“Like shit,” Yoongi replied, pushing himself up onto his hands and staring out over his room. “Wh'time's it?”

“Past three,” Hoseok replied, and Yoongi hesitated.

“What day?”

“...Wednesday,” Hoseok said, and Yoongi whipped his head around to stare. _Wednesday?_ Wednesday, he'd been out for _three_ fucking days?!

“What.”

“It's Wednesday,” Hoseok said, pursing his lips. Yoongi stared and Hoseok sighed. “The doctor said it's probably just built up fatigue. You finally got so tired you turned off, just like a robot with dead batteries.” Somehow that comparison made Yoongi feel even worse and he nodded, tucking himself down into bed and swallowing hard.

“Right,” he whispered. Hoseok moved close to the bed and Yoongi was nearly shaking with nerves, _don't touch me, touch me, don't fucking touch me, god i'm so fucking miserable help I need help please don't fucking touch me--_

Hoseok ignored Yoongi's weak protests and grabbed him close, smoothed his sweaty hair and rubbed his back. Yoongi pushed against his chest and growled under his breath but fuck he was so tired, he was hungry and tired and sad and he felt so fucking pathetic, like a little kid who couldn't take care of himself.

“Fuck off,” he said, and Hoseok chuckled a bit, the sound of his smile making Yoongi smile, just a little.

“Sorry man, no can do. We all know how good you are at taking care of yourself, and by _good_ I mean _bad,_ ” he hesitated, and Yoongi felt himself being pulled in a little tighter. “...I wish you hadn't let it get this bad.”

And just like that. Just like fucking that Yoongi was fucking _crying_ like some kind of fucking twelve year old girl, crying and biting hard at his lips and fisting his hands in Hoseok's shirt trying to shove him away and keep his face hidden in his shoulder at the same time. God he didn't want to fucking make any noise, he didn't want to fucking say anything but it felt like something in him was swollen and rotting and Hoseok had just pierced it and now it was all just—fucking leaking out like fucking pus or... Or blood. Or love he'd let putrefy into self-loathing.

“I miss Jimin,” he hissed it out through his teeth and silenced Hoseok before he could say anything else. “I can't be friends with him. I can't be _friends_ with him, Hoseok, fuck, I love him so much, why, why do I make him so fucking miserable, why do I always fucking _do this,_ I can't fucking—I don't get to feel bad about this Hoseok, I did it, _I did it to myself_ —”

Hoseok let him cuss into his shoulder and tear at his shirt until he was too tired to stay sitting up. He let Yoongi slump into his chest and rubbed his back. “I'm sorry, man,” he said, and Yoongi knew he meant it, because Hoseok never said anything he didn't mean. “I'm sorry it hurts so bad.” Hoseok's hands felt like mother's hands, and that made Yoongi feel like shit, too, because he and his parents hadn't talked since he'd left Daegu, since he'd run away from them and their strict rules to live on his own, to be poor and happy but Yoongi was never happy when he was alone.

Yoongi hated being alone.

“No one wants you to hurt, Yoongi, no one wants it to fucking hurt you, no one,” his voice was low and Yoongi felt his chest jumping, felt his teeth grinding painfully into one another, felt his heart fucking breaking all over again, the shards up in his throat, not allowing him to speak.

Yoongi didn't say what he was thinking—that he deserved to have it hurt because he'd hurt Jimin and it was only right, only fair, that it hurt him too. That was what being inherently destructive was all about. Namjoon could break all the fucking _things_ he wanted. Yoongi had always specialized in breaking people.

Including himself.

“I did this to myself,” he whispered, his forehead pressed to Hoseok's warm neck. “Because I didn't want to fucking hurt him anymore. I didn't want to _hurt him anymore._ ” Hoseok nodded, just let Yoongi lean into him and didn't touch him more than he had to. Yoongi was grateful. He didn't want sympathy. He didn't fucking want it. It wasn't a secret that he hurt Jimin. It wasn't a secret, Jimin had never been the type to keep his emotions to himself so of course all of his friends hated Yoongi, because even when Yoongi had his good moments—remembering Jimin's birthday, taking him out for breakfast, holding his head up when he vomited after too much celebratory drinking—they didn't outweigh the bad moments, when he forgot to pick Jimin up, or forgot about their plans, or said one too many mean things or just didn't fucking _think._

“Come on,” Hoseok murmured, when Yoongi went still aside from his shivers. “Come on. Go take a shower, I'll get something to eat. We can change your sheets too.”

“I don't want you to do that,” Yoongi said and his voice sounded like heavy machinery, rusted parts grinding.

“What do you want?”

It took Yoongi a long while to answer. When he did the words were almost a hiccup.

“I don't know.”

“Well. Until you do, I'm gonna take care of you, okay?”

Yoongi nodded, his voice a whisper.

“Okay.”


End file.
